


Too Good To Be True

by writer_in_the_attic



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale eventually sobered up, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley barely sobered up, Drunk Dancing, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, How Do I Tag, I guess???, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), One Shot, Post-Canon, Slow Dancing, but mostly dancing in their own ridiculous ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24072532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writer_in_the_attic/pseuds/writer_in_the_attic
Summary: After a long nap, Crowley realized he has no any assignments from the head office and probably, Aziraphale does not have one either. So Crowley decided to drop by to the bookshop to spend their free time together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 12
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, The Good Omens Library





	Too Good To Be True

All the days had been nice... Well, since the postponed Armageddon, it had been quite peaceful. No news from their respective head offices, as expected by Crowley. _Calm before the storm_ , he thought. 

Waking up from a long nap, he noticed his flat is a mess. Thanks to Hastur and Ligur’s visit. “Ligur,” Crowley remembered as he examines the dark ash left on the doorway. He was about to miracle it away when he recalled Hell might still be keeping tabs on his activities. He cannot simply leave it there, though. Given that the ash was caused by holy water, it should be cleaned up. _But is it still harmful?_ He groaned in annoyance. There so much more to do other than this thing. _Is_ _there anything to do?_ No temptations to accomplish or new assignments from downstairs. Nothing.

He wondered what Aziraphale could be doing right now. Bet the angel has no tasks from Heaven either. He thought of maybe dropping by, but for what reason? He has to have a reason. Bring something to drink? To eat? Talk about something? About what? Is Aziraphale even in his bookshop? Crowley hesitantly picks up the phone and eventually put it back down. Rather, he took the plant mister and sought refuge to his house plants.

Going back to his office after an hour of terrorizing the house plants, Crowley stares at the phone and still thinking whether to call Aziraphale or not. If he’s in luck, the angel himself might call him instead. He finally took the chance and call Aziraphale. While waiting for the angel to pick up the phone, he noticed his collection of records and tapes and smiled. The ringing stops and replaced by a familiar voice. “I’m afraid we’re closed.”

“Aziraphale, it’s me. You’re not busy then?”

“Oh, Crowley! There is nothing much to do, except driving away customers every now and then. Everything seems to be... quiet. Not a word from the head office since… the, um… incident.”

“... Me either. Er… Can I drop by? I mean in the bookshop. I have, uh, something to show you. Not that important, actually. I just figured out if… I could bring a bottle, a case, something to drink. You know… If you don’t mind.”

“No… I- I- mean no, not at all! You could come by anytime this day.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Uhh… right. So… I guess… see you later, angel.”

************************

“Have you reached out yet? To the Almighty, I mean,” Crowley asked, emptying the last bottle of Courvoisier and a bit tipsy. He takes off his sunglasses and sat easy on the nearest chair he could find at the back of the bookshop. He stared intently at Aziraphale the same way he stared at his phone earlier, waiting for an answer.

“I told you… I can’t –“ Aziraphale clears his throat and gulped the remaining cognac in his glass. He tried to grab another bottle without leaving the comfort of his seat, only to discover that it is already empty. Distracted by the label, “ _Le Cognac de Napoleon?_ Ooohh… Napoleon. Hmmm…”, he clasped the liquor in his arms and grunted irritably. “Almost forgot. I’ll- I need to sober up.”

“Aargh... Er… Alright. Do as you wish,” said Crowley as he lazily lies on the sofa with a messed up vision yet clear head. Being free from all the anxiety whether Hell will get back at him or Heaven to Aziraphale, and having no plans if that ever happen feel pretty empty, actually.

He turned his head and found the angel between the shelves, holding books and some scrolls. Crowley usually caught himself staring, or gazing too much, too longingly at Aziraphale. _He is right there, in front of you. You can reach him if you want to, and willingly lend you a hand, Crowley. You had known him for years, centuries, or even millennia, but why angel? You make forever seems too short._

Aziraphale caught his gaze and smiled. “My dear, you told me earlier you have something to say, or rather to show… Are you alright?” Crowley brightened up and pushed himself out of the sofa. “Uhhh… Yeah. Right. Let me—“He stumbles, as if he forgot how human legs work. “Crowley, I think you need to sober up first.”

“Nah. I’m good. Let me get it in the car.”

Crowley came back, still drunk, with “The Very Best of Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons” record in his hand. “This is what I’m talking about!” Aziraphale looked up from his book. Then noticed the colorful sleeve as Crowley placed the record on the gramophone. “Oh, be-bop,” he muttered.

“Nice one,” pointing finger guns to Aziraphale. “Try again.” The moment the needle descend onto the record, the demon snaps his fingers and the overwhelming trumpet medley turns into a mellower, synth resemblance intro.

> _You're just too good to be true_
> 
> _Can't take my eyes off of you_
> 
> _You'd be like heaven to touch_
> 
> _I wanna hold you so much…_

Crowley sways to the beat and held out his hand. “Come on, angel. I toned it down for you.” Aziraphale glared at him and turned back to reading, “You know I don’t do be-bop, Crowley. Besides, I am busy,” pointing his book. “So no, thank you.”

“Its- no- it’s _not_ \- Pffftt. Anyway, it’s your loss.” He closed his eyes to feel the rhythm and the words in between.

> _… And if you feel like I feel_
> 
> _Please let me know that it's real…_

Or maybe he just feels dizzy, given the amount of alcohol in his system and his insisted, awkward, “choreographed” dance steps that involves being twirled by an imaginary partner. In Aziraphale’s peripheral vision, he could see how ridiculous the demon is. So ridiculous that it made him look up from his book and observe him instead. Crowley is not graceful, obviously. He thinks he’s cool but his not. _He’s doesn’t have to be._

Crowley noticed the angel, watching him so he decided to approach him but tripped over nothing and made Aziraphale laugh. “Oh dear, you _really_ need to get your senses back.” He locks his eyes with Aziraphale’s and responds, “Only if you will join me.”

> _…Pardon the way that I stare_
> 
> _There's nothin' else to compare_
> 
> _The sight of you leaves me weak_
> 
> _There are no words left to speak…_

Crowley grumbled about the carpet and insists the angel to change them, or remove them for good. Throwing himself on the sofa, he closed his eyes and clapped once, changing the mellow tone into a somewhat electric guitar solo. He turned around and surprised to saw the angel still observing him instead of reading. _Staring at him. That’s more of my thing, isn’t?_ He blushed with the thought but thanks to alcohol, it was not obvious.

> _… I love you, baby_
> 
> _And if it's quite alright_
> 
> _I need you, baby_
> 
> _To warm the lonely night…_

“Finally giving in? Come on. Loosen up a little,” said Crowley, burying his face in a pillow beneath his head. _It smells like Aziraphale._ A hand tugged away the pillow from Crowley, “Oi!” he protests. “Right, get up.” Grabbing Crowley’s arms, Aziraphale pulled him away from the sofa. “Wow, angel. I didn’t know you’re quite strong.”

“Well, I was the guardian of Eden for a reason.” Before Crowley can gather his senses, Aziraphale was already moving his feet and swaying to the rhythm. “What are you doing?” asked Crowley. “Well, I am only doing you a favor because you’re gloomy.”

“Wha-how- _me_ \- gl-gloomy? I am happy as ever! First of all, the world didn’t end. There’s no war, and the Anti-Christ chose not to! Everything is great, angel!” Despite of the strong tone of his voice, Aziraphale ignored him and kept on with his so-called _dancing_. “Just dance with me, my dear”, said Aziraphale with a smile.

> _…Oh, pretty baby_
> 
> _Now that I've found you, stay_
> 
> _And let me love you, baby_
> 
> _Let me love you…_

Offbeat, they danced like a pair of idiots that can humiliate the existence of the song. Aziraphale’s _history_ in a discreet gentlemen’s club is evident. As for Crowley, disco was once one of his favorite things. Crowley snaps his fingers, transitioning the upbeat music back to its smoother and slower version. “Would you mind?” He held out his right hand to Aziraphale for the second time. The angel paused for a moment before giving his hand.

> _… At long last, love has arrived_
> 
> _And I thank God I'm alive_
> 
> _You're just too good to be true_
> 
> _Can't take my eyes off of you…_

“You could’ve just asked me if this is what you want,” said Aziraphale, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder as they sway slowly with the music.

“Seriously, angel. You’re now telling me that I could’ve just asked you. For the record, I did ask you twice before you say yes.”

“No, you asked me only once. Anything before that was nothing but your _absurd_ dancing.”

“To be fair, I was drunk,” said Crowley, who barely sobered up.

“Hmmm… Sure, my dear.“ Aziraphale closed his eyes and savor every cadence of the melody in Crowley’s arms.

“Isn’t a bit somber?” In an instant, Crowley brought back the guitar in the song, adding to its soft tune a brighter touch. “Got to love that riff.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “Really, Crowley?”

Crowley pushed the angel away as if he were too terrible, but too wonderful to be near. Yet he held on to Aziraphale’s left hand with his right and catching him as their arms stretched, spinning him away. Then reeling the angel back in, unwilling to give him up. 

> _…I love you, baby  
>  And if it's quite alright  
>  I need you, baby  
>  To warm the lonely night  
>  I love you, baby  
>  Trust in me when I say_
> 
> _  
> Oh, pretty baby  
>  Don't bring me down, I pray  
>  Oh, pretty baby  
>  Now that I've found you, stay  
>  And let me love you, baby  
>  Let me love you_

They danced through the night, like how they did through the ages. A foot forward while the other held back. One will lend a hand when the other needed. They try to find the rhythm of each other’s play, despite of their ceaseless and futile doubts. Because one thing for sure, before the music fades, their paths will lead on the same end. It is their _dance_ , after all.

* * *

"Can't Take My Eyes Off You" cover by Private Island:

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to this music.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This fic is inspired by "Can't Take My Eyes Off You" cover by Private Island, a wonderful song that I accidentally found in Spotify and can't help but imagine Aziraphale and Crowley slow dancing with it.  
> Thank you for reading and I hope you liked it!


End file.
